A Friday Night In November
by Garmonbozia
Summary: It's Children In Need night at BBC Television Centre. An alien mercenary is about to blow up the machine that manages the donations. And the Doctor and River? They're stuck outside with an unfriendly bouncer. They need OUR help to get inside. For every review, message, fave, pigeon, *whatever*, before Sunday, I will be donating a pound to help save C.I.N. Please, please help out!
1. Chapter 1

This is the story of an elegant, dapper gentleman, his short-tempered lady wife, and an alien kamikaze disguised as a one-eyed bear-

"_Elegant_?!"

River, please, I'm trying to tell the story.

"And I'm trying to tell you that just because you've never heard of anyone being prosecuted for libel against themselves doesn't mean it's not possible. Doesn't mean I wouldn't see to it, sweetie."

River, it's for _charity_, now may I _kindly_ go on? Thank you… Anyway, like I was saying, once upon a time there was a brave married couple who had gotten very good at saving the world and who were now, apparently, just _expected_ to do it at the drop of a hat and nobody else even seems to try anymore. Actually, I've just made a really good point by accident, where the devil have Jack and his lot gotten to?

"America."

America, ladies and gentlemen. Torchwood Three, officially charged with _your_ galactic safety, are in America. They're in America and do you know what is in Britain? Do you know what is currently at the very heart of your nation?

"Well, don't let's exaggerate. It's at the BBC."

Which is rather important where you and I are concerned, darling, wouldn't you agree?

"You can glare at me all night if you want, but that's not going to help the good people of the United Kingdom with the immediate threat to their lives and liberty you have yet to tell them about."

_A bomb! _A bomb, you wonderful lovely people! Well, no, really it's an alien kamikaze, as I already explained, essentially a lifeform which can engage in a massively explosive self-destruct process at any given moment, and belonging to a race which does so professionally and without remorse, where payment is continued down rich, sacrificial bloodlines but really, essentially, layman's terms, a big blooming bomb is currently sitting at Television Centre! And, to add insult to imminent injury, my friends, it is a bomb which has disguised itself in the furry yellow pelt of one Mr Pudsey Bear!

"Which just isn't cricket. It's not. That bear does _so_ much to help out and-"

River, I think you've been away from Earth too long. The bear's just a mascot, it doesn't really _do_ anything. It's a symbol of the overall movement.

"You're kidding? I grew up in a children's home waiting for a one-eyed yellow bear to arrive with toys and schoolbooks and playtime and… lovely things. You're telling me the bear's not real?"

The bear is just a man in a suit, darling. I would have thought you'd have spotted that big zipper up the back. The head comes off, River, there's a seam there. That's how the alien got into the costume. What did you think? That he had to actually _skin_ Pudsey in order to adapt that particular cover?

"…Oh, well, this isn't _half_ so gruesome as I was imagining. Carry on, dear. The people still don't know where they fit into this."

Oh, quite, quite. Well, the endearingly childish preconceptions of my wife put to one side-

"_Watch it_…"

-I shall continue my tale. I am, as I'm sure you'll all agree, an awfully good soul at heart and- River? River, why are you laughing? I _am_. I'm awfully good. I am awfully good, River, now kindly stop-… Thank you. I'm a good soul. And an old enemy of mine (which particular one does not concern you) was counting on this. This ancient foe has hired the explosive alien to infiltrate tonight's Children In Need celebrations and to make them go all boomy and flamey and firey and make them end badly and abruptly. And why? So that the big computer that counts up all the donations will be destroyed, and all the money lost, and the hard work of millions of people all come to naught in a single blast.

"Sweetie, you're making it sound like it's all about the money."

But it is. We discussed this before.

"Yes, and we also discussed what you really meant and how you were going to phrase that so that people would understand your true intentions and so on and so forth. Is any of this even ringing a bell? Do you pay _any_ attention to me when I'm speaking?"

Quiet! I'm concentrating on how to say this so that people will understand. Nobody's ever put it to me like that, I'm having to think about it.

"Oh, for heaven's sake…"

Oh, just listen! Just _listen_, it's _not_ about the money! It's not. Well, it _is_ about the money a little bit because without the money none of it happens! Without the money, a children's choir doesn't get a new microphone. A troop of Girl Guides is stuck with a hole in the roof leaking the rain down on their every meeting. A little boy in a broken home where nobody ever stops shouting has no after-school club to escape to. Children will live in poverty, or on the streets, or even in danger _in their own homes_ who didn't have to and who wouldn't have done so if the money had been there! So willingly given, so purely and simply and humanly donated to those who have nothing and worse than nothing!

"…That ought to do the job."

Don't be cynical, River. Charity. It is _charity_ that makes humanity such a wonderful race. Charity that brings me back to you over and over again. The capacity for compassion and empathy and the love of a stranger for another stranger, the understanding of need. It's what makes you what you are. And I cannot, in good conscience, sit idly by while this mercenary menace blows it all to smithereens, and nothing left of itself to even take to trial. Except that…

"Just tell them."

Well, it's a bit embarrassing, really. River and I have come all this way, and we're right outside BBC HQ. They're filming inside. That _thing_ is somewhere in there. But we can't get the Tardis in. Television Centre, you see, currently runs a very sophisticated temporal dislocation field and every time we try we end up in 1842 when the land in question was a pig farm and now we smell.

"Tell them _why_ the BBC runs a very sophisticated temporal dislocation field, sweetie."

No.

"Tell them what happened."

They had _Daleks_, River, what was I supposed to except storm the place with Strax and half an army? What would you have done, if you'd found out they had Daleks?!

"Only they weren't really Daleks, were they?"

No, they were props, for some _television program_, but how was I to know that!? They looked like Daleks, they sounded like Daleks and when I saw them on that documentary about me they were certainly behaving like Daleks!

"It wasn't a documentary, though."

Well, I _know_ that now. I wondered why I couldn't remember you dressed as Cleopatra… Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, long story short, we're standing outside, and we smell, and the stench keeps distracting the doorman, so the psychic paper isn't working and he won't let us in without a ticket. Now, I've managed to get a couple up on eBay here but, well…

"Suffice to say, all our funds are currently tied up in _strontium_ mining on _Cloridon Four_, and for some _mysterious_ reason we can't get hold of the gentleman in charge of the dividends-"

It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to get in on the ground floor of an exciting new operation with massive rewards. It'll come through, darling.

"When pigs fly over a frozen hell…"

We're strapped. That's all you nice, lovely, generous Earthlings need to know, alright? The one person we _have_ managed to get a hold of is Miss Garmonbozia, who is allowing us to use her account here on this website so that we can appeal to you directly. We need ticket money. So that we can save Pudsey and, consequently, lots of children. And the best thing about it is, it's not going to cost you a penny – all you have to do is leave a message here, and Miss Garmonbozia will donate one of your Earth English Sterling Pounds to our most valid cause. Any sort of a message at all, private or public or just something called 'fave-ing', she says, and that'll count. And we'll pay her back when the strontium deal comes through.

So please, please, _please_ just get us through this door. For the one-eyed bear, and for the kids.

"And for Terry Wogan. I couldn't bear to see him blown to bits."

…River, is there something you want to tell me?

"No, my love. Just be in another galaxy next Eurovision night, alright?


	2. Chapter 2

Ladies and gentlemen, this is Doctor River Song, addressing you from a throne which is in turn perched atop a huge heap of money. You will forgive me if I make this brief, but I have a personal spa full of attendants waiting for me, and a bed of banknotes to fall into after that.

"River, I think you're forgetting the point of this message."

Really? Isn't this the bit where I admit in front of _everybody_ how I was wrong about the strontium mining and really you're an awfully clever man who just brought us sailing into a life of ease and luxury for when we get tired after adventures?

"…No, you're absolutely right. Mea culpa. Carry on."

I was wrong, good earthlings, and I don't even feel bad admitting it, because we are now loaded. The only reason we couldn't get hold of the man who does the dividends the other night, and a lovely, lovely man he is too, was because they'd just struck strontium, and he was opening bottle after bottle of champagne… Actually, my love, that's a really good idea-

"Miles ahead of you, River, all on its way!"

Naturally, our first act upon coming into all this wealth was to settle our debts. Including a very recent one with one Miss Sally Garmonbozia.

"Liar, liar, drawers on fire…"

…Alright, so I went and bought a throne first. Nobody blames me for buying a throne, do you? You'd tell me if you blamed me. Look, if you blame me for buying a throne, feel free to send me a message. Also feel free to know I'm going to ignore it, and sit on my throne a while longer in blissful ignorance of your disapproval. But _then_ we cleared our debt, didn't we?

"Then I bought a tank. Not to use, just for… shopping and things. Then we cleared our debts."

…No, hold on, hold on – this is the first I've heard about any tank.

"Okay, _now_ you're forgetting the point of this message."

I'm really not, but I want to hear about this tank.

"Not in front of the helpful people, River. And not on that Garmonbozia woman's account. You know how she loves it when we fight."

Alright, _fine_, but don't think I'm dropping this.

"You, dear? Drop a perfectly good domestic that never needs to happen? Never, dear…"

In short, my friends, and my husband's determination to break down my already fragile psychology with his every word and deed aside, we've come here to tell you today that the amount repaid came to in excess of sixty pounds. Not only would it never have happened without you, but so much more would have been lost if you had not bought us our way past that awful man on the door, whom my ever so manly husband refused to do anything more concrete about –

"Nor you, River darling."

_I_ am the lady wife. I'm not supposed to _have_ to do anything like that.

"You _love_ punching things!"

It was the _principle_ of it! At any rate, we got past him, and we saved the day, and in short, we couldn't have done it without you. And... therefore… in addition…. _Oh, sweetie, do I have to do this? Really?!_

"'And therefore, in addition-' Come on, you're doing really well."

In addition in light of our newfound wealth my husband and I will be matching that donation in order to double the total. There, are you happy?

"It's the right thing to do, River. And seeing you've forgotten all your lines we practiced, I'll explain to them about the exchange rate, shall I? See, the economy here in the distant future is much worse off than it is in your time. For us, sending sixty 21st century pounds back is rather a considerable scrape. So please don't think us greedy with her sitting up there on a throne and me in a tank and us only giving sixty pounds and damn it, I mentioned the tank again, didn't I….

Yes, yes, you did and seeing the message has been delivered now, this time we can talk about it, yes?

"You haven't said thank you yet."

Thank you. Now tell me about this tank.


End file.
